The Sleeping Detective
by Redderhead
Summary: A fluffy story; Sherlock realises he loves John and not a moment too soon! - set during episode 1 of series 2 - Just after Jeanette leaves at Christmas - New Chapter - Updated Rating due to graphic crime scene JOHNXSHERLOCK Don't like. don't read!
1. Chapter 1

*Episode 1 of 2nd Series* - Just after Jeanette leaves 221B Baker Street, not to return – Christmas Eve.

Unfortunately I do not own BBC Sherlock or any of the characters portrayed in the books of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. This is purely for the enjoyment of fluffyness.

Sherlock came up the stairs, his feet heavy on each step. He was not one for sentiment, as everyone now hopefully knew, but he had had a difficult day. Too much social activity requested from a Sociopath, followed by a non-literal slam in the face from Irene Adler.

His steel coloured eyes narrowed as his brain internally said that name. Obviously not as clever as he had thought her to be, dying like that. She had wasted his time.

Sherlock reached the ajar living room door, a glance at his chair, his desk and the floor told him that Mycroft was obviously worried about him – using Sherlock's friend, _his only_ friend, against him to search through his things. At least they would never find it.

"I hope you didn't mess up my sock index this time" Sherlock mumbled as he retreated to his own room, not stopping to remove his coat.

John sighed. Another girlfriend gone and another wasted night waiting on Sherlock. He knew that Jeanette leaving was mainly his own fault – the whole dog thing – but he would like to blame Sherlock more. John closed his book and looked into the fire, nursing his nightcap in his right hand. He thought about the reason for Mycroft's phone call; but how was he supposed to keep an eye on his flatmate if he was in his own room? Still, it was Danger Night, so he had to do his best, somehow.

John looked briefly to his watch and then back at the fire, watching the embers slowly turning to ash and falling through the grate. It was almost midnight; almost Christmas, his first Christmas in 221B. It was a more cheerful location than when he was in Afghanistan, but at least he had friends / co-workers to celebrate with then.

John finished his whisky and walked slowly over to the kitchen. He washed his glass and put it to rest on the draining board, pausing for a moment to watch the last lonely soap sud make its way down the draining board, falling into the sink to join another one. As a thought came into his mind, John allowed himself a smile and went upstairs to his room to ready himself for bed.

Sherlock stared at the ceiling in his dark bedroom. He remained fully dressed, alien to his surroundings since everything had been searched by his flatmate and his landlady. Eventually, he felt himself starting to feel restless; his brain was revving, searching for thought; unsolved puzzles, the mysteries of the world, anything that would keep him thinking and away from rotting.

He sprang to his feet and grabbed his mobile; maybe he should look at what new Chemistry Apps were available and most probably incorrect factually? Sherlock grunted and threw the phone down onto his bedside table in frustration. He glanced at the ceiling once more, knowing full well what was taped to the inside of the lampshade. He shook his head dismissively. He couldn't do that to John.

Sherlock rid his coat and scarf, hanging them on the back of his door. Slowly, he began exchanging his dark suit for his cotton pyjamas. He smiled briefly as he remembered John's reaction to first seeing him in his favourite blue night time outfit; he had smiled warmly at him as an adult would survey his child, eyes twinkling.

"You look cosy" he had said before turning to his breakfast.

"Cosy?" Sherlock had asked.

"Yes, you know, comfortable and warm? Cosy" John explained, glancing at his flatmate and then returning to his eggs.

Sherlock sighed once more as the memory faded out of view. He pulled back the covers on his large oak framed bed and slipped into the envelope of cotton sheet that welcomed him. Sleeping was so _boring_.

1801 seconds later, Sherlock was still awake. Unable to turn off his thinking machine; he found himself counting how many cats he had ever seen, and started wonder how many cats of cats there were now. He turned over with a huff, trying to blank his mind. 308 seconds later he lay flat on his back again, eyes open, arms spread out to reach either side of his mattress.

The bedroom door opened; quietly and stealthily, John entered the room. Sherlock made no noise or movement and just watched his midnight visitor with quiet amusement. He knew full well it was John; probably come to see if 'his patient' was ok. Sherlock remained frozen into position even when John was putting an extra pillow next to his head, just shy of his curls, and sitting down on the edge of his mattress. Sherlock allowed his facial expression to change to one of confusion as John's back was turned, firmly snapping his eyes shut as John cautiously lay down beside him. Sherlock flinched at the feeling of sudden pressure on his upper arm, he retracted it rapidly and pretended to wake up.

"John?" Sherlock asked quietly in a tone of confusion.

"Shh" Came the reply.

"John, what are you -" Sherlock tried to ask again.

John sat up slightly and sought out Sherlock's arm once more, firmly grasping and pulling it around himself, he lay his head gently on Sherlock's shoulder and sighed a contented sigh.

Sherlock remained confused.

"John, what is going on here?" Sherlock said loudly.

"You owe me this" John stated not looking up.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock questioned, even further confused.

"Jeanette was going to be my Christmas sleeping buddy, but now it will have to be you." John said with a yawn.

"She gone?" Sherlock said simply.

"Yep. Just like the others, stated that I was a great boyfriend, but not to them." John sighed.

The room was quiet for a minute or two before soft snores could be heard from the smaller man. Sherlock stared at the ceiling again. If John had been any other man, Sherlock would have punched him, but he wasn't, he was John and somehow, that was ok.

Sherlock felt his eyes grow heavy and his mind go blank with wonder.

The sun peered in through the gap in Sherlock's curtains and rested upon the two sleeping men. John stirred and nuzzled into the warm and safe nook of Sherlock's neck; he blinked the bleariness away from his eyes as he looked at his current situation. He was wrapped up in Sherlock's arms, chest to chest with the taller man, his head being rested on by Sherlock's chin, he could hear Sherlock's snore and deduced that he must have his mouth open. John's heart did a small flip, much to his surprise, and he found himself very comfortable indeed.

Sherlock awoke with a slight cough, a clearing throat noise, which made John's nose bounce on his Adam's apple. Sherlock did not open his eyes straightaway but felt his throat was dry, he felt a warm regular breath on his neck and the result was a shiver – gripping John tighter to him for warmth. He closed his mouth and swallowed a couple of times to moisten his mouth.

"Merry Christmas, John" Sherlock said in a croaky voice, eyes still shut.

John smiled into his friend's throat;

"Merry Christmas, Sherlock, and thank you" pulling away slightly to see Sherlock's face.

"Thank you for what?" Sherlock asked, opening his eyes to see John's dark blue orbs staring back at him.

"This" John said and indicated what he meant by squeezing Sherlock slightly. He laughed. "People would really talk now".

Sherlock smiled; "And it wasn't me that initiated this one" they both giggled slightly.

One week later, John had found himself a new girlfriend; Mary. Sherlock thought she looked quite pretty, but she was taller than John, she was obviously a dancer at the non-innocent part of town, not a nurse as she had told John; which affected Sherlock in an odd way, and she was not at all interested in any cases or investigation. In short, she had a stupidly small brain which meant Sherlock had no time for her.

She started to appear in the mornings, beside Sherlock's experiments – wearing John's dressing gown and drinking coffee out of John's favourite cup. This made Sherlock wince every time he saw it, he couldn't explain it, but she made him angry.

One night, Sherlock ran into 221B shutting the door and double bolting it. He panted as he rested against the wall. That would have been a much better runaway if he had his blogger with him to laugh at the situation and at the absurdity of the whole case. Instead, he had been on his own, running about in the early hours, John too busy with his new _girlfriend _to help.

Sherlock turned to walk up the stairs to his flat. He threw his coat in the general direction of his desk and flung himself at the couch.

The flat was quiet. Sherlock lifted his head to see if John's coat was there; it was, lying on the back of his armchair, then he scowled as he saw the coat beside it; a red cotton with black trim. _Mary_.

Sherlock tried to sit still, but he missed his friend, he wanted to talk to him about the case, wanted to laugh with him…Sherlock smirked as a thought crossed his mind. He stood quickly, stepping onto the coffee table with a bounce and back to the floor, he walked briskly to his bedroom and dressed for bed. He then climbed the stairs to his flatmates room and opened the door, slipping inside.

Allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark space, Sherlock identified John sleeping on the left side of his bed facing Mary, his arm draped over her. Sherlock headed towards him. Quietly and quickly, he lifted the duvet and slipped between the sheets. The movement on the mattress woke John immediately and he removed his hand from Mary so that he could turn over. When he was faced with a mass of black curls, John slightly jumped.

"Sherlock!" John whispered frantically.

"Shh, John, you'll wake her up" Sherlock whispered gently.

"Are you ok?" John asked in a concerned but low voice.

"I need my blogger" Sherlock muttered as he made himself comfortable, snaking his arm around John's midriff.

John thought for a brief moment before giving in; he moved Sherlock slightly to lie his right arm down for Sherlock to rest upon, and then wrapped his left arm around his back – bringing the duvet up to their shoulders and gently tickling Sherlock's neck in a soothing way with his fingernails.

Without a further word, the pair fell asleep simultaneously.

Morning came soon enough; bringing with it a distinctly loud bang of the front door. Both men awoke with a start, looking directly at each other before John swiftly turned to the other side of the bed. No Mary. John sighed and covered his face with his left hand in defeat.

"I think we should face facts" Sherlock said quietly and croakily.

"What? What facts?" John bit harshly.

"That people will talk" Sherlock stated "and it will be because it's true".

John stayed quiet.

Sherlock propped himself up on his left elbow to look down at John.

"I was _jealous_ of Mary." Sherlock said carefully.

John looked up at Sherlock in amazement.

"And it's why you have stayed with me; everyone leaves me one time or another, but you stay, you fight for me, you help me, you save me and you put up with me…because you love me." Sherlock continued.

John still remained quiet, although he was suddenly very aware of his quickened breath pattern and elevated heart rate. He didn't need to say anything because Sherlock could read him and he knew it.

"Teach me" Sherlock said simply, and he looked at John with such vulnerability that John felt himself fall. His face softened and he moved a curl out of Sherlock's eyes with one finger.

"Where do you want to start?" John said quietly, a smile playing about his lips.


	2. Chapter 2

"Teach you what?" John asked still smiling.

"Don't make me say it" Sherlock snarled. "I have already produced enough sentimentality to last a lifetime for a sociopath" he sat up, his back to John as he sighed heavily and looked about John's room; there was a large oak cupboard second hand when John received it clearly, a small wooden desk and a plain laundry basket.

"You do not have many possessions" Sherlock stated simply.

"What do I need?" John asked genuinely.

"Well, you do not have a bedside table, or chest of drawers, ornaments, a radio?" Sherlock listed quickly.

"Will those things make my room more attractive to you?" John questioned, still lying flat on his back with his left arm folded underneath his head, his right arm surreptitiously sneaking towards Sherlock's cotton clad back.

Sherlock rubbed at his eyes. He was confused at John's question and after slight deliberation he decided to be himself in his response.

"Why would you want your room more attractive to me?" He asked abruptly, turning his head back to John.

John finally reached Sherlock's back and rubbed his fingers in large circles, massaging him and hoping Sherlock would understand. Sherlock lifted an eyebrow and did not break his gaze from John's face.

John sighed.

"Well you were just saying that you and me, well, that we are different. I really am very fond of you, and it would appear that you are determined to be the only one in my bed at night." John said gesturing vaguely at the other side of the bed. Sherlock's brain was about to explode.

"So, you are saying that my possessions should be brought up here to share, hence, I would stay in this room with you, and judging on you're change in massaging speed in the last 3 seconds, I am quite right or have suggested a step too far." Sherlock rounded off in a quiet and low voice.

John stopped massaging aware that Sherlock was quite right.

"Well, we could do that if you would like, but I have always preferred your room." John said, suddenly very interested in a loose hem on his Pyjama pocket.

Sherlock slowly lay back down to face John.

"John, stop playing games with me, I need…I don't know how to…I've never had to be affectionate…please help me." Sherlock felt a tinge of pink come into his cheeks and he couldn't look away from John's chin.

John smiled adoringly at his companion, in every sense of the word.

"Don't worry, Sherlock, we'll take it nice and slow" John turned on his side to lie parallel with Sherlock, running his left hand's fingertips down Sherlock's milk white cheek. Sherlock closed his eyes and inhaled a shaky breath. "But Sherlock?" John questioned in a whisper. Sherlock opened his eyes to see John's warm orbs looking back at him just under 12, possibly 11.5 centimetres away. "This will mean you won't be a Sociopath anymore, at least not with me".

Sherlock smiled and let out a breath he was holding.

"Obviously" He replied.

John chuckled and pulled Sherlock towards him in a cuddle. He was going to have to think about this; he was walking on eggshells really, Sherlock might not be able to cope with the level of intimacy and physical aspects that will be required for this relationship. But, they were in no hurry, John felt Sherlock's arm weave around his waist and he smiled into Sherlock's hair.

They got up around lunchtime and went about getting dressed with a new, almost humorous air, trying to act the _couple_; Sherlock tried to wear one of John's shirts with a brown jumper and John tried to squeeze into one of Sherlock's tight purple shirts, they turned to one another and burst out laughing at the sight, they left John's bedroom fully covered however, compromising with Sherlock wearing the brown jumper over his purple shirt – it still looked a bit strange but he didn't care.

John went down to see Mrs Hudson and help her make the dinner to bring upstairs. As John stirred the gravy at the stove and Mrs Hudson fetched the plates and trays, there was a rather loud and alarming noise coming from the floor above. John turned to see Mrs Hudson looking back at him in silent confusion. They listened a little longer, and heard the continuously loud scraping noise for another full minute.

"I'll go" John said and he briskly walked through the corridor and bounded up the stairs. Sherlock's bedroom door was wide open and there was a panting coming from inside. John cautiously turned the corner and his heart melted. There was Sherlock, pushing and pulling John's furniture to fit in with his own.

"Sherlock" John said quietly, his face showing every emotion. "How did you get these down the stairs on your own? You could have hurt yourself!" he scalded and then he smiled "But thank you".

Sherlock mirrored the smile; he walked over to the bed and sat down upon it looking fondly at his afternoon's intensive labour. "What do you think?" Sherlock asked waving dismissively at the wardrobes and desks side by side, all the while with his left hand upon his chest, slightly breathless still.

"It's fantastic" John said as he sat beside the dark haired man.

They looked at each other and the short distance that was between them. Sherlock raised his right hand and ran his fingertips down the left side of John's face, just as John had done earlier that day.

"Yoo-Hoo" came the call from the stairs, "Boys! Dinners ready" Mrs Hudson bumbled up the stairs with a plate laden tray.

Sherlock dropped his hand and looked at his knees, with, was that embarrassment or sadness at the interruption? John could not pinpoint it, so he went with his instinct.

"We'll work on this later" John said quietly, putting his left hand on Sherlock's knee. Sherlock looked down at John once more and smiled weakly. "Come on, you'll need to eat." John said putting his weight onto his hand in order to stand up.

Sherlock scoffed at the suggestion.

"For the activities I have planned for tonight, you will need your strength up." John said as he walked out the door, leaving Sherlock with his jaw hanging slack. Sherlock waited a moment to compose himself before slightly bouncing through to the living room to eat his whole dinner, and dessert, much to Mrs Hudson's surprise.

The day was overall quiet. No cases, no Lestrade, no Mary and no Moriarty. Sherlock would have usually anointed this _'dull'._ However, no usual day would have led him to sitting with a John shaped cushion cuddled up to him on his own armchair.

John of course was using this as an excuse for Sherlock to get used to someone in his personal space, but he couldn't say he was not comfortable.

Sherlock was pretending to watch the news on the telly but was actually cataloguing every feeling and sensation his body was going through.

"I think I might have a bath before bedtime." John said quietly.

Sherlock instantly tensed, he felt a strange loss already for the warmth his companion was providing.

However, John slipped off Sherlock and down the hallway to the bathroom. Sherlock heard the taps running and John humming, then after a few minutes, he heard the taps stop and a splashing noise or two, something was different though, and he strained his senses to reach it, all the sounds were clear, not muffled as usual; the bathroom door must be open. That was new. Sherlock sat, glued to his seat.

"Do you fancy a bath Sherlock?" John asked from the living room door. Sherlock whipped his head round to see John in a lemon coloured towel.

"But you are in the bath, John" Sherlock stated factually. "Why would you ask me if I - ahh" Sherlock reached the conclusion before he had asked the question and looked to see John smirking.

Sherlock stood, immaculately dressed and straight backed, he followed his partner through the doorway and down the hall, stopping just shy of the bathroom, he watched as John removed his towel and clambered into the bath. Sherlock hesitated; he turned and headed silently for his bedroom. John sighed dejectedly from the bath, he was sitting hunched over, half way down the tub, allowing room for Sherlock to slide in behind him, alas, this did not look like it was going to happen now. Just before he could move up the bath, Sherlock returned. His suit trousers and purple shirt exchanged for a large peach coloured towel wrapped around him. Sherlock closed the bathroom door behind him and flicked the latch across. John beamed up at him.

They spent a good 40 minutes just sitting, talking and cuddling in the warm bubbly water. John offered to wash Sherlock's hair as he slid down the bath, allowing the taller man to lie back. Sherlock was not complaining, he was enjoying this experience, still cataloguing everything that his senses were observing. It was fascinating. Once Sherlock was washed, he offered the same for John, who accepted straight away. Sherlock was learning by mirroring John's actions, John saw that now, that is what Sherlock had meant by asking him to 'teach' him.

Once all the bubbles had disappeared, the two men lethargically removed themselves from the bath. John tightly wrapped Sherlock up in his peach towel and then himself in his yellow one. Sherlock smiled down at his John in a childlike way, almost unsure of what to do next. John was enjoying himself, he was taking every precaution not to scare Sherlock, but he loved being the teacher, for a change.

John pulled out the plug in the bottom of the bath and wiped his hand on his own towel, before turning his attention to Sherlock, unwrapping the peach coloured bath towel and starting to dry his hair.

The whole while, Sherlock could not remove his eyes from John's face. He observed that John was enjoying himself and concentrating very hard on something, what was it? His towel drying? No, second nature. Was he cataloguing as well? No, John was not one for using his observation skills. Taking care of him? Well, that was second nature too, wasn't it? Ahh; taking care of Sherlock. Taking care not to scare Sherlock. Sherlock's head jolted suddenly, as if something invisible had just punched him in the face.

"You ok?" John asked, stopping his towel activities.

"Y-yes" Sherlock said hesitantly and then he gathered himself and looked back at John; "Yes, I am perfectly fine" he said with a smile. A genuine smile. John replied with his own.

Once the pair were dry and once more wrapped securely in towels, they unbolted the bathroom door and let out the steam. John padded through to the living room and turned off the TV, he then returned to the corridor to see a shy looking Sherlock standing with his toothbrush firmly lodged in his mouth.

"Good idea" John said brightly before grabbing his own, the pair stood at the bathroom sink like small boys at a ponds' edge. John playfully nudged Sherlock's arm with his own and Sherlock caught on quickly, nudging back with a smile. Once they had both brushed and mouth-washed, they looked at each other silently and slightly apprehensively. John held out his hand for Sherlock to take, Sherlock took a moment, and then slid his hand under John's.

John led the way to Sherlock's room and closed the door behind them.

Sherlock threw his towel on the floor and quickly curled himself into his bed sheets, scooting across the bed to the far side. John smiled and picked up the forlorn towel, folding it over the chair at his newly located desk, he did the same with his own towel and turned to the bed, he felt a small flush of blood run to his cheeks as he saw he was being watched. Watched with _those_ eyes, the eyes that could tell everything with a single glance.

John quickly made it to the bedside and slid in beside his friend. For a minute, the pair stayed quiet in the dimly lit room, staring at the ceiling.

"Are you still sure about this Sherlock?" John whispered.

"I am not sure…what to expect, all I know is, I have enjoyed today." Sherlock told the far away ceiling.

John smiled, the sheets pulled up to his nose, he felt like he was about to get caught doing something he shouldn't.

Sherlock stretched his hand out, finding John's upper arm; he grasped and pulled John on top of him. John went willingly, cuddling up to Sherlock.

After a further silence, John lifted his head to Sherlock's. Without a further word, and just a small expectant inhalation of air from Sherlock, John made the leap, and kissed him. It was a millisecond before Sherlock was mirroring John, doing everything John was doing with excellent precision. They worked; they fit together like the only two pieces in their own jigsaw puzzle, the chemistry was evident, it had been hiding there the entire duration of their friendship. Good thing too, as there was no going back after this.

John slowly and gently kissed him; the kiss quickly became confident, passionate and deep. John pulled out of the kiss to look down at Sherlock – who still had his eyes closed.

"Stop cataloguing" John whispered to him with a smile.

"I think my brain has broken a gasket" Sherlock muttered, his eyes slowly opening.

"Hmm, might need to take you to the dealership in the morning then" John said with a laugh.

"Where will they plug me in?" Sherlock asked with sudden worry.

"Oh I would imagine, _here_" John snickered as Sherlock gasped.

"Oh" Sherlock said in a high pitched voice.

000000000

Sherlock woke first, his light blue eyes brighter than they had ever been, he felt, different. He looked at the reason for his unknown transformation curled up beside him; John looked so small and vulnerable when he slept, so unlike the man Sherlock had fallen asleep with. Sherlock ran his free hand down his own chest, finding slight bruises from the adventures of the last night, he smiled in remembrance. He turned again to John and placed a delicate butterfly kiss to his forehead, something that he didn't actually think about, he just did it. How?

"Thinking about the human heart?" John asked in a raspy morning voice.

Sherlock looked down at him with a confused glance. "Is that what it is, makes us act without thinking? How did you know?"

"I'm not sure, maybe your powers of deduction transferred to me when we…well, last night" John said mischievously.

For a fraction of a second Sherlock looked worried. "No, John, that couldn't possibly have happened" Sherlock said dismissively.

"Gotcha for a second though!" John said in a sing-song voice, he cuddled close again to Sherlock's chest and felt Sherlock wrap his arms around him.

000000000

Later that day, Sherlock received a call from Lestrade. He took the necessary details down on his mental notepad; leaving them on the side table in his Mind palace.

"John! A case" Sherlock yelled, even though John was sitting next to him.

John lunged for his coat and was half into it before they both were exiting the flat.

In the taxi, John reached for Sherlock's hand in the small gap between them. Sherlock did not seem to notice straight away, when he did however, he looked at John questioningly.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

John looked puzzled; "Nothing" he said with a shrug.

"Then why – ?" Sherlock said looking at their hands.

"It's a sign of affection, people don't just do it because something is wrong, they do it for many reasons" John explained.

Sherlock smiled slightly. He held up their hands to study them. "How sentimental" he said with ease.

John chuckled.

"John, I will need to separate myself from_ this_ for the time being, I find the whole…situation too overwhelming to allow my brain to work on anything else." Sherlock said quietly, still looking at their entwined hands, now resting on his thigh.

John smirked. "Am I a distraction?" he asked, knowing all too well the answer.

"Much" Sherlock said promptly, turning to the window.

John laughed again.

Sherlock looked back at him sternly.

"Welcome to the world, Sherlock" John said after a good giggle. Sherlock smiled again at him, trying not to make it obvious as the taxi had arrived at its destination.

The pair untangled their hands and left the taxi, walking onto the crime scene.

Lestrade looked up to see the two figures a few yards away. John looked down at the Inspector, Anderson and Donavon before looking to his feet as he walked.

Sherlock noted John's composure and decided to throw it off balance; whispering in a sing-song tone; _"You three don't know what we've been doing!"_ John snorted unrepentantly before they both instantaneously burst into laughter.

Lestrade looked at the pair approaching in despair.

"God help me" was all he said.


	3. Chapter 3

John was starting to notice the pattern now, it was difficult at first to know which 'personality' Sherlock would be in; whether he was his Sociopathic _'married to his work'_ self or whether he was his newly discovered _'Casanova'_ self.

Eventually though, John started to observe the slightest mannerisms that could indicate clearly what persona his partner had taken on; for example, if Sherlock was his work self, he would be quite abrupt and wave his hands in a dismissive manner, he sometimes wouldn't talk for a long while and he didn't tend to go near his, now their, bedroom.

However, when he changed, which was usually just after a case had been solved, he would let his hands linger on items, look at John a little more than was usual, make the cups of tea and on one occasion heat the baked beans on the stove for their dinner.

John was just starting to get comfortable with the arrangement when it suddenly changed for no apparent reason.

"John!" Sherlock bellowed through the house.

"Yes?" John said quietly from where he had been stood, beside him for an hour or so.

Sherlock was standing facing the wall of the living room at 221B. One hand lay across his chest, the other bent at the elbow to stroke his fingers over his lips and chin, the whole while his steel blue eyes examining every inch of the photographs littered in front of him, trying to map out the criminals' brain and get to the motive, or better still; predict the next move.

Sherlock didn't flinch when John answered so quickly and closely, he did not even glance at him. He just opened his arms to John as if expecting something. John looked at them with confusion;

"What do you need?" John asked, ready to grab his coat and run down the stairs to hail a cab, to snatch his phone up and touch type a text to anyone, he was ready for anything that was coming, or so he thought.

"My blogger" Sherlock said in his normal tone, still staring at the billboard of crime in front of him.

John stared with an expressionless face at his partner before moving forward obediently, inch by inch, ready for Sherlock to change his mind at any second until he was standing inside the taller man's arms, Sherlock embraced John, resting his chin a-top his head; the blonde and grey hairs slightly tickling the skin of his jaw. John snuggled in, reassured by Sherlock's sigh of contentment and the firm arms wrapped around his back.

"How did he do it?" Sherlock muttered, moving towards the wall, dragging John with him like a cushion pinned to his chest.

John stayed quiet and turned his head into Sherlock's neck, his hands tucked up inside the cuddle, flat against Sherlock's chest. This was a surprising treat, but it meant he was back to square one with the guessing game of Sherlock's mood. He didn't particularly care at the minute though.

Sherlock suddenly tensed, it was like an electric shock had just been passed through his body from head to toe, John felt it too – his hand over Sherlock's chest almost visibly moving with Sherlock's racing heartbeat.

"Ooh, that's how!" Sherlock suddenly erupted, he turned around a couple of times on the spot, seemingly forgetting he had John pinned to him, who stumbled around to keep up with him like a rag doll.

"John, we need to go to Scotland Yard, _now_!" Sherlock bellowed again, and he was half way to the doorway when John realised he had better say something, as Sherlock had clearly forgotten he was there.

"Ok, can I get my coat then?" John said, muffled into Sherlock's dark blue crisp shirt.

"Oh, yes, sorry" Sherlock apologised and released his grip on the Doctor. John ran over to his coat and ran back, almost knocking into Sherlock who stood firmly in the spot he'd released John.

Sherlock looked down at his partner, a smile playing about his lips, without any warning, he bent his back slightly to place a kiss on John's lips, they held eye contact for a moment after and then Sherlock beamed.

"I can't wait to see Lestrade's face when we explain this case to him, it's clever, oh it's very clever." Sherlock said, as if the last minute had not happened, he made for the door and bounded down the steps.

"Sherlock" John sighed, realising he was in the room on his own. "We were having a moment" he said dejectedly.

"Come _on_, John!" Sherlock shouted impatiently from down stairs. John smiled slightly despite himself and ran after his best friend.

0000000

It was gruesome. 'How could he be _that_ close to something so awful' John thought standing a few feet away with a disgusted expression plastered on his face. His hands planted firmly in his pockets, body language evident. Lestrade was focusing on the wooden table in the corner a little too much. Anderson and a colleague were standing a yard or so away brushing the bloody wall down for any ident on a killer, even Anderson looked slightly green under his white germ mask.

It was late afternoon; Lestrade had told Sherlock and John about this case just as they had arrived at the Police station to solve the previous one. Lestrade said the scene had been uncovered by the neighbour who had come to ask for some eggs.

'Bet she went off those eggs' John thought absentmindedly.

The body was annihilated. It was the only word that fit, not to mention it stank. Surely there was nothing left to be identified?

"Frenzied attack, looks like" Lestrade said glancing at the body and very quickly averting his eyes.

Sherlock was less than an inch away from the lightly toasted carcass, his magnifying tool directly in front of his right eye.

"Wrong" Sherlock muttered. Without a warning, he straightened up and ran out of the door. John and Lestrade looked at each other in bewilderment.

In Sherlock's absence, John braved the approach to the body to give his medical expertise.

"The body has been burnt. Impossible to tell how long its' been here without post mortem. Large wound to shoulder, many smaller wounds over chest and stomach. Body has been turned over?" John looked to Lestrade, who nodded affirmatively. "Wedding ring and necklace survived though; petrol?" John asked, standing up.

"That's all I need to see." Sherlock stated more to himself than anyone else as he re-entered the room and approached the body once more.

"Well?" Lestrade asked patiently.

Sherlock took a deep breath and mirrored his speech with his hands.

"The woman was in her early 30s, right handed, superstitious. Married 5 years to a DIY fanatic, possible local handyman. She was cutting onions on the chopping board when her open shirt sleeve caught the gas flame of the stove, she did not realise straightaway, rather when her clothes were on fire, still holding the kitchen knife, she tried to put out the flames with what she thought was water, pouring it over her head, but it was actually a clearly labelled glass bottle of vodka. The glass smashed and the knife slid into a main artery on her shoulder when she dropped them; causing the blood up the wall. She fell over, already dead by this point from shock, landing in the glass from the bottle on the floor. You will find the glass pieces at post mortem. Not murder. Straight forward accidental death." The room was silent as Sherlock's observations sunk in.

"Why is the gas not still lit then?" Anderson eventually asked the quiet room with a smirk on his face.

"Ahh Anderson, the only individual that could get lost in a toilet cubicle." Sherlock stated with ease. John smirked at that one. "The gas is not alight now because the gas _bottle_ has run out; this street does not have mains gas but bottled gas; delivered on a monthly basis. This family used their gas wastefully – look at her, she used hers when there was no pan to be boiled or fried. Almost the end of the month now, the paperwork on the side table in the hallway states that the bottle is due to be replaced tomorrow morning." Sherlock reeled off in a beat. He then stared at Anderson with hidden satisfaction as the man had the decency to look uncomfortable.

"How come she didn't set anything else on fire?" Lestrade asked pointing to the tea towels and floor.

Sherlock walked over to the tea towels hanging from the oven door, he threw one to Lestrade who caught it with good reflexes.

"The tea towels are wet and the floor is covered in ceramic tiles. Very hard to set on fire." Sherlock muttered looking down at the body again.

"Well then, sorry to have called you out on an accidental, Sherlock" Lestrade said looking at the tea towel closely.

"No problem, it was fun" Sherlock said with a smile as he put his right glove on and threaded his scarf tighter around his neck. Lestrade glanced at him without moving his head.

"Sherlock" John said warningly, looking apologetically to Lestrade, as was habit these days.

"I suppose we should locate the husband then, seems strange he wouldn't have been home to report it" Lestrade said thoughtfully.

"He's at the casino!" Sherlock said on his way out the door. John smiled at Lestrade and followed the consulting detective as per usual.

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"What a day" John said with a groan as he sat down in his armchair by the fireplace.

"Yes, it was a busy one wasn't it" Sherlock said, carefully removing his coat and scarf, hanging them on the coat hook behind the living room door. "All solved and home for tea though" Sherlock said in a chirpy tone.

John stared into the empty fireplace, his eyes tired.

"Would you like a fire?" Sherlock asked gently, his hand resting on the back of John's chair. John looked up at Sherlock for a second before looking back.

"Yeah, I'll do it in a minute" John said with a further glance and smile up at Sherlock.

"I'll do it" Sherlock said promptly, kneeling on the floor in front of John, he began building up the kindling in the grate, adding some shredded paper. He stood straight to retrieve the translucent orange plastic lighter from the mantelpiece before kneeling once more to light the flammable material.

The room was quiet all the while; Sherlock focusing on the fireplace and John over looking the chore.

"You were disturbed by the crime scene this afternoon" Sherlock stated, without turning to John.

John thought for a minute before replying truthfully; "Yes, yes I was. It was a pretty horrific sight."

Sherlock looked at John now, sitting back on his own heels. "Does it hurt you to see the corpses we deal with?" he asked curiously.

John looked down at Sherlock with an understanding smile. "Sherlock, I'm a doctor, I'm supposed to care about fellow Human Beings." Sherlock smirked at John before returning his attention to the fire.

John suddenly had a revelation and he was quiet while he worked on it.

"Wow, that is some amplified thinking you are doing" Sherlock said as a carefree and humorous remark, still staring at his handiwork in the grate.

"That's why you offered to light the fire" John said quietly as though half way through a conversation. Sherlock whipped his head round to stare at John; trying to look at ease but John glimpsed the vulnerability he had recently come to learn about in his partner.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock said almost dismissively.

"It bothers you. The corpses bother you too. You offered to light the fire, when that's usually my job; you were either, subconsciously or consciously aware that I might have an accident with the lighter." John summarised, so deep in thought that he was unknowingly staring at the flames now growing in the grate.

"Nonsense" Sherlock muttered, prodding the fire with the iron poker.

"Its not is it. C'mon, you can tell me." John said in a coaxing sort of tone, nudging Sherlock with his knee.

Sherlock sighed and let the poker fall beside the grate. He turned on his knees to face John.

"It's a weakness I've never had." He began. "Mycroft and I have a very different relationship to any other siblings. I've never had to worry about him as we both can take excellent care of ourselves. He says he worries about me, but that is just a human interface he uses when talking to the general public."

He silently rose from the floor and walked to the window, his right hand behind his back, which was facing John. "Mother died when I was an adolescent and we brought ourselves up, with Mycroft being 7 years my senior, he could be my guardian." John's jaw loosened and he stared at Sherlock's figure by the window.

Sherlock spun slowly on his heel to face John, moving his other hand around to his back and continued talking, his voice unwavering until now; "I have never had someone to care for, to be protective of and to, love. Until now." Sherlock finished, looking at his shoes.

John let the words sink in for a minute before he questioned Sherlock in a voice quite unlike his own;

"Does it bother you that I could be in danger when I work with you?"

"Not at all, I need my assistant." Sherlock snapped in the _'don't be stupid'_ tone John knew so well, and then his mouth curled into a half smile "Even if I _do_ have to work overtime to keep you safe" John looked up and caught Sherlock's smile, lifting John's heart up through his chest.

John stood up and walked over to Sherlock. "And I appreciate every moment of your care." He said, enveloping the taller man in a hug. Sherlock smiled wider and reciprocated the hug, the pair stood locked in arms in the middle of their living room to the sound of the fire crackling away.

Mrs Hudson chose this moment to back away from the slightly ajar living room door quietly, smiling uncontrollably, she removed her shoes and attempted to tip-toe down the steps, she had not reached the first landing before she heard;

"Mrs Hudson, can we have a cup of tea please?" Sherlock asked at a normal volume, as if speaking to someone in the room. John looked confused for a minute before Mrs Hudson replied;

"Not your housekeeper!"

"Then why were you able to eavesdrop?" Sherlock said into John's cropped hair.

"Tea tray coming right up!" Mrs Hudson called before hurrying away to her kitchen, embarrassed that she had been caught.

John smiled into Sherlock's suit jacket at the familiar noise of Mrs Hudson scurrying down the stairs.

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By the end of the week, they were running. Their favourite past time to a late night onlooker. They were hurrying down a dark and dank London alleyway, Sherlock holding onto John's hand in order to keep a tag on him, make sure he was right behind him. John found himself tripping occasionally on Sherlock's billowing coat, he cursed that coat so much for its impracticability, but Sherlock _did_ look smart in it.

Without Warning, Sherlock turned them sharply into an alcove; he threw John into it and stood chest to chest with him, covering them both with his coat. Attempting to control their sharp breathing they remained silent. The footsteps came closer, the sprinting feet that were chasing them were echoing around the long and narrow alleyway. Sherlock closed his eyes and pushed into John, silently hoping that these two were not all that clever.

His prayers were answered as the men ran straight past them, not seeing the two pairs of feet inside the walls' alcove. Sherlock waited until he heard the footsteps fade into nothing before he moved to check on his squashed companion.

"You OK?" Sherlock asked John sharply.

"Y-yea" John said with some hesitation as he had not had the time to check himself over. "Are you?"

"Yes, fine" Sherlock panted.

The pair smiled as they caught each others eye.

"So, are we going to stay here all night?" John said, resting his head upon Sherlock's chest.

"Oh, Just for a minute" Sherlock breathed, letting out a large breath and letting his head fall forward into John's hair.

They stood there for a minute longer until they had recovered from their plight.

"Come on then" Sherlock said, stepping away from John. John almost groaned at the lack of warmth. Sherlock smiled and held out his hand, John took it and the pair ran in the direction they had come from, back to 221B.

"That coat…is definitely…not…for running" John wheezed, waving in the general direction of Sherlock's coat.

"Should I...change it?" Sherlock panted in reply.

"Naa" John said dismissively.

Sherlock looked at John with a questioning glance.

John, recovered enough not to breathe too heavily, walked over to Sherlock and put his hands in both of the coat in questions' pockets, Sherlock lightly placed his hands on Johns hips in reply and looked rather amusedly down at his friend.

"Ahh, you_ like_ the coat" Sherlock said deducing the truth.

"Just a bit" John smiled, he stood up onto his tip toes and briefly pressed his lips onto the detectives own.

"Not in the hallway, boys, honestly, what are you like" Mrs Hudson scalded lightly. She had come out of her flat in her dressing gown and was standing with a shy smile on her face.

"Sorry, Mrs Hudson" Both men said politely, not trying to stop their smiles as they broke apart, not daring to look at each other either.

"At least, not until you're married!" Mrs Hudson said as she turned away with a giggle. She entered her own flat once more and left the men in the hallway.

Sherlock and John faced each other with very wide eyes, their breathing temporarily stopping.

"I am going to get a cup of tea; can I get you a cup of tea, Sherlock?" John flustered, already walking past Sherlock and up the stairs, seemingly not waiting for a reply.

Sherlock caught himself in the hallway mirror; he stood straight, his light blue shirt still crisp at the collar, although there was a small patch of dampness on the left side of his chest, just visible beneath his coat collar. Sherlock removed his scarf and approached the mirror looking closely at the patch, John, he thought without much difficulty. It was saliva from John when they were hiding in the alcove. Sherlock giggled, surprising himself.

Then he bounded up the stairs, removing his coat as he went.

"You dribbled on me" Sherlock said as he entered the kitchen.

John looked at Sherlock with almost a comedic expression; "What?" he asked.

"Dribble" Sherlock said, pointing to his shirt.

"Ahh, yes, sorry about that, I produce extra saliva when running. Always been a problem" John said apologetically, moving to the fridge to get the milk.

Sherlock smirked and turned away, retreating to their bedroom. John smiled down at the two teacups. He added two sugar cubes to the black liquid in Sherlocks' _'I'm a detective and you like it' _mug and a splash of milk to his own familiar white military mug. John put the milk back in the fridge and turned back to the counter to take the mugs through to the bedroom, however, Sherlock's tea was no longer there. John looked about him, finally seeing the mug in the hands of its owner. John stared. There Sherlock stood, cupping his mug of tea in both hands, wearing the coat and _only _the coat.

Unwanted images of Irene Adler flashed through John's mind and he subconsciously pouted.

"What?" Sherlock asked John.

"Irene Adler wore that coat with nothing else" John stated, leaning on the kitchen bench.

"Who looks better?" Sherlock said, without a beat of silence.

"Oh, definitely you" John said with a smirk.

Sherlock walked towards John; "Anyway, I washed it" he said, extending his smile.

"Good" John replied a little too quickly.

Sherlock approached John further, making John take a half step back. Sherlock took a sip of his tea and returned it to the bench beside John's. He then took a stride towards John, John laughed as he took another step back, the pair repeated this several times until they had reached their bedroom. John's knees caught on the bed frame and he fell back onto the bed, Sherlock climbed over him and started to undress his partner, all the while John laughing heartily.

John never did get a warm cup of tea.

Hi Guys, thanks so much for the words of encouragement! I find this story is so easy to write, got another chapter coming along! Tell me when to stop because I can't seem to stop!

Hope you enjoy.


	4. Chapter 4

Hello everyone, hope you are enjoying my marathon story! I'm steering a little away from the Fluffiness I'm afraid, this chapter is full of Sherlock Action!

And remember; I own nothing!

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The next morning, Sherlock awoke to an empty bed. He sat up slowly, glancing around the room. No sound, no one and no clothes. Sherlock ripped the duvet off his legs and swung round to place his feet on the floor. He wiped at his eyes and saw that his bedside clock read 1330. He looked at it in surprise, no wonder John was up and about.

Sherlock stood up and pulled the covers with him, cocooning himself in his own body heated bed sheets. Sherlock yawned as he walked into the living room. Sherlock's phone sat on his desk, resting against John's laptop.

Sherlock picked up his phone, saw he had 2 new texts, he opened the first and began to read;

'_I'm not dead, lets have dinner''_

Sherlock deleted it. So she was alive after all, good grief had Sherlock been so distracted by his new relationship not to notice? He opened the second text with some trepidation.

'_You have my camera phone and I need it. You won't ignore me this time as I have taken the protection in the form of your rather handsome colleague, and I think you need him. Propose swap?'_

Sherlock's heart stopped. John. He knew Irene wouldn't cause him any harm, but the American CIA agents would if they found them both. Sherlock began texting back furiously;

'_When and where? If you have caused any harm to my Watson, I will have no trouble giving you up to the American's – SH'_

Sherlock ran to the bedroom, abandoning his bed sheets and wrapping himself hastily in his grey shirt and black trousers. He retrieved his coat from where it had been used the previous night just as is phone gasped in pleasure. Sherlock looked shiftily around; he really didn't change that huh?

'_Actually, let's have lunch. At Angelo's' _

Sherlock was out the door before he had put his phone back in his pocket, he ran to Northumberland Street, vaguely remembering telling John it was only a 5 minute walk from Baker Street. It felt like 15 minutes to sprint.

Sherlock halted at the next door shop, composing himself. He then walked calmly and collectively into the restaurant, swiftly spotting the female, but no John.

With a nod to Angelo, Sherlock shifted into the booth opposite Ms Adler. She wiped some sauce from her mouth delicately with a napkin.

"Ahh, the man himself." She said smartly.

"And where is the other man?" Sherlock said calmly, albeit a little lower than usual.

"I see I woke you up with my message" Irene cooed, moving her napkin to her mouth to lick it before wiping at Sherlock's face. Sherlock jolted away and hastily rubbed his face clear of her wet napkin.

"Where is John?" Sherlock demanded.

"With Jim" She said with a shrug as though it was obvious.

"What!" Sherlock shouted, the whole café stopped for a minute to look round at them.

"Easy tiger, yes, Jim did worry when I told him you had threatened me." Irene said, finishing her sentence by popping a pasta shell into her mouth.

"Where are they?" Sherlock said in a murderous tone.

"Somewhere safe" Irene answered.

"So, what, I have lunch with you, and just hand over the phone? What is the plan?" Sherlock asked quickly, every inch of him frozen into the seat.

"Jim is going to take it from here. He will tell you the instructions" Irene said, she moved to stand. "To initiate the game, you have to hand me the phone" She said quietly.

Sherlock looked up at her, he didn't have a chance and he knew it. He reached into his shirt pocket and retrieved the camera phone, slapping it into her hand.

"What next?" He asked.

"Go back to 221B Baker Street." Irene said calmly. She bent slightly in order to peck Sherlock's cheek.

Sherlock stood immediately, intentionally missing the intended kiss. He glared at her until she had left the establishment. Sherlock hurried outside to the street. He didn't follow her as would be his first instinct, instead, he ran back to Baker Street. He flew up the staircase and searched the flat. No John. Mrs Hudson hurried up the stairs behind him.

"Sherlock, this came for you 5 minutes ago. Funny sort of fellow delivered it, he looked like our John." Sherlock snatched the red envelope from his housekeeper without a word.

Inside was a phone, a camera phone identical to Irene Adler's. Sherlock stared at it as it started to ring. He answered it cautiously.

"Hello" Sherlock said gently.

"Hello, Sherlock, remember this game?" Sherlock's eyes flew open wide as he recognised John's voice over the phone, it was strained, understandably with the next line that was said. "You have 3 hours, Sherlock. Find out who killed me"

"John? Are you hurt?" Sherlock shouted into the device.

"All I can tell you is that I'm in Battersea" John said weakly.

"I don't understand, John, how can you be dead? You are talking to –" Sherlock stopped talking as there was a loud bang and the phone connection lost. Sherlock froze.

"Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson said timidly. "Sherlock, are you ok?"

Sherlock dropped the phone. His whole body shook with grief. A moment later, he spoke aloud to his body; "No" he couldn't afford to loose it.

He stared at John's empty armchair, and felt what he needed to feel, his body began to shake with another entirely different emotion; murderous anger. A text alert came from the unknown phone.

Sherlock swiftly stooped to pick it up from the floor; he swiped the screen to see that there was a 4 word text from an unknown number:

'_There are three of me JM'_

He walked briskly past a shell-shocked Mrs Hudson and down the stairs. He waved down a taxi and phoned Lestrade on his own phone.

"Lestrade, get your people down to Battersea, tell them to look for…look for a body" Sherlock said, he hung up the phone on Lestrade's questions and headed for Scotland Yard. He needed to research Jim Moriarty.

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"Sherlock, there is a body at Battersea power station, you were right." Lestrade said grimly.

"Tell me" Sherlock said quietly into his phone.

"Dead man, only been dead a couple hours, big hole in his head, bigger round the back though. Shotgun victim" Came the summarised answer.

"Anyone we know?" Sherlock asked quieter still.

"Not that I know" Lestrade said in confusion. "Its' him again isn't it?"

Sherlock stopped looking at the file in his hands and said one word "Moriarty".

"God help us" Lestrade muttered.

"I'll be down soon" Sherlock said and ended the phone call.

He had already worked out the text he had been sent, 1 hour and 40 minutes had passed, but Sherlock had discovered that there were three J. Moriarty's in London. He needed to get identification on the body as quickly as possible and then he could decide which Moriarty was out of the game.

Sherlock had detached himself completely to work on this; even though, a small hope nagged at his brain – at least it wasn't John. That bang must have been a trick, to try and break Sherlock from his genius, in order to beat him.

As Sherlock travelled by taxi to Battersea, his phone rang.

"Another body Sherlock, another male, found in the Thames, only died an hour or so ago, same wounds as the first. What is going on Sherlock?" Lestrade asked, not expecting an answer.

Sherlock thought a second before replying with; "I have to stop the third, before it happens. Get the Thames body, put it beside the one at Battersea, I will be there in 10 minutes."

Sherlock steepled his long fingers and prepared his brain for his fastest deduction yet. Small flashes of John's face kept surfacing and Sherlock packed each image away neatly in his mind palace's bedroom. He could not afford to worry at this time. He had to keep his calm, no matter what.

The bodies lay side by side as Sherlock entered the crime scene. One middle aged, the other early 20s. Sherlock paced up and down each one, he used his magnifying glass on every inch of each corpse. He searched the pockets. Lestrade looked on, knowing when to be quiet.

Sherlock stood straight backed and lean; he looked out at the Thames in thought.

"Well?" Lestrade asked, looking expectantly at Sherlock.

"Tower Bridge" Sherlock said abruptly.

"What -?" Lestrade asked about to start a tirade of questions when Sherlock interrupted him.

"No Time! Tower Bridge _now_!" Sherlock stormed off to Lestrades' silver Mercedes. Lestrade sighed and went reluctantly after him, glancing back to the bodies before driving like a madman to Tower Bridge.

Sherlock opened the car window; he searched the bridge wildly for any signs of life. There, he saw them. Two figures on the top ridge, half way across. Uncontrollably high above the dirty river.

"Stop" Sherlock told Lestrade. "Block off the bridge." Sherlock got cautiously out of the car and walked to the other side of the road, where he could see them in plain sight.

The phone rang in his coat pocket. Sherlock answered it vigilantly.

"Well done, you solved my little puzzle of the day" Jim Moriarty's voice slithered down the line and further to Sherlock's spine.

"Yes, tricky one this time" Sherlock replied coolly.

"Well, seeing as I had good leverage, I had to make it a fun day for you" Sherlock could sense Jim's smirk.

"The killing and finding of a criminal and a sailor is not exactly what I would call fun." Sherlock replied looking up at the two figures 42 meters high above him.

"Blocking off the Bridge, Sherlock, tut tut, you are causing a scene! We were up here for ages unnoticed before you turned up" Jim said in a deep voice.

"How long is on the timer" Sherlock questioned, ignoring Jim's dangerously playful mood.

"Well, unless I stop it, he has just under 98 seconds." There was a loud clank as something hit the road, narrowly missing Sherlock, landing at his feet. It was a giant bunch of keys.

"Bye bye Sherlock" Jim sang down the phone before a figure jumped from the top and hit the Thames with a splash. Sherlock dropped the phone and grabbed the keys, he ran to the closest tower, faster than he had ever ran in his life, he struggled with the keys in the lock, finally loosing his cool, he took the stairs 3 at a time, running out onto the highest point of the Tower, he jumped to the ridge and ran along it, finally reaching his John.

Sherlock turned him round, seeing the large counter on his chest reading 10 seconds. Sherlock unzipped it in a flash, noticing at the last minute that there was a padlock hanging from the bottom of the zip. Sherlock noted Johns' decided stillness, probably from fright. Sherlock retrieved the keys Moriarty had thrown to him from his pocket. He jammed the smallest key into the padlock and it clicked open.

Sherlock ripped the explosive vest off of John, throwing it as hard as he could over the side of the bridge, he whipped out the gun from the back of his trouser waistband, vaguely noting John's slight wobble, he thrust his other arm out to catch John just as he shot the flying object before the wind could carry it onto the bridge.

The impact was minimal as the vest set fire to the air. Sherlock turned his attention to the man in his arm, he was pale grey and breathing heavily.

"Always one for dramatics" John said quietly, letting Sherlock know everything was ok with a weak chuckle.

"Come on you" Sherlock said with an uncontrollable smile, he bent down in an attempt to pick up John, but John stopped him.

"I can walk, I can walk, Sherlock" John said in a fluster.

"Yes, but can you jump?" Sherlock said with a nod of his head to the road below. Lestrade had stopped a rubbish lorry just underneath them, a few old mattresses lying at the top of the full skip. Sherlock tucked his hand gun safely away again as John looked down.

John felt his legs wobble again, "Oh no, Sherlock, _noo_!" John said frantically clutching onto his partner. Unfortunately, on John's last word, Sherlock had pushed them over the edge, one arm firmly around John's waist, the other out-stretched to grab the rope that was hanging near them. Sherlock closed his eyes, praying that the fall arrester would kick in as it was designed to do – but usually with only one person at a time – not with two.

They fell the 40 odd metres to the skip. Sherlock went gracefully, silently, clinging onto John and the rope, the only two things that mattered; he was desperately trying to slow them down waving his legs. Sherlock vaguely noted that John was not a great glider; he would have fallen like a loud stone if they had not grabbed the rope they now clung to. John still yelled all the way down, Sherlock looked up at the device he was holding in silent prayer, the mechanism finally kicked in 20 feet from the ground; they slowed by 15 or 20mph and bounced into the skip with a bang. A cloud of dust puffed out of the skip as the pair landed and two loud groans could be heard echoing around the inside.

"John, John? Are you ok?" Sherlock called frantically, gaining his balance on a cupboard door, he ripped the skip apart to find his partner.

A very grumpy and dirty faced John Watson was revealed when Sherlock lifted a roll of carpet out of the way.

Sherlock sniggered at the sight. "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist" he said, holding out his hand.

John muttered something under his breath but took his hand none the less, using Sherlocks' weight to pull himself to his feet, promptly to collapse again.

"Twisted ankle" The good doctor diagnosed himself.

"Not bad for a deathly fall" Sherlock shrugged, looking up.

"What is that thing?" John said nodding toward the rope hanging into the skip from the top of the bridge.

"Its called a fall arrester" Sherlock said lightly; "Mechanics working on the bridge need a second escape if things go wrong" he continued, smiling at his own brilliance.

John looked at him wearily; "Is there anything you don't know?" he asked defeatedly.

Sherlock used the rope to climb over the skip cage and helped John to do the same before jumping down onto the road surface. He made sure John was on solid ground before he walked to Lestrade.

"Thank you, Lestrade, couldn't have done it without you." Sherlock said and for the first time in his life, he accepted Greg's hand and shook it genuinely.

Lestrade looked completely dumbfounded at the whole situation, looking up at Sherlock's face, covered in black smuts from the skip, he smiled.

"Do you need a blanket?" He asked, still smiling.

"No, but I think John does." Sherlock said with a glance at his companion, who was now shakily hobbling over to him. Sherlock saw the warning signs, however, and grabbed John before he hit the road surface. "Legs a little loose are they? You shouldn't be walking on a twisted ankle, Doctor" Sherlock said gently, he pulled John to his own chest where he let him lean, John was grateful for the gesture, and didn't attempt to stand on his own again.

Lestrade looked at them warmly, on some level he noticed the familiarity they had with each other, but it didn't matter. He watched as Sherlock planted his nose in John's short hair and closed his eyes briefly to inhale. Lestrade allowed them a moment of privacy as he set about sending the ambulance in.

The paramedics saw to every scrape and bruise the pair had received before deeming them fit to be sent home for plenty of rest and recuperation. At which the couple glanced at each other with a knowing smirk.

"Did you see where Moriarty went?" Sherlock muttered to Lestrade as John was being seen to by the paramedic's with the blanket and a bandage to his ankle.

"Naa, we were too busy watching you, the hero of London" Greg smiled and nodded up to the top ridge.

Sherlock smiled slightly before thinking about Moriarty's whereabouts now.

"He can't have survived that drop, Sherlock, he would have hit the water at 100mph" Lestrade justified.

"Anyone can survive a fall, Lestrade, it's all in the landing." Sherlock said, looking downstream wistfully.

"Sherlock?" John called weakly. Sherlock turned on his heel immediately, he and Lestrade walked over to the ambulance. "Why do I have a blanket?" John asked questioningly.

Sherlock laughed.

"Come on, let's go home" Sherlock said invitingly. Sherlock helped John off the ambulance bumper and to stand. A paramedic came round to give John a cane explaining that it had been sitting in the back of the ambulance for years, John accepted it with a thank you.

Just as Sherlock walked off, slowly, with John leaning on him, Lestrade lunged forward to grab the abandoned blanket. He chased after the two men, unfolding it as he ran; he then draped it over both men's shoulders and laughed at their reactions. The pair laughed as they got into a police car to take them home.

"Boys!" Mrs Hudson fussed as they came through the door. The police car driving off with the blue lights still flashing; "What on earth has been going on with both of you today?" She said shrilly, looking from one to the other desperately; seeing their filthy faces, torn clothes and blood patches, not to mention John's bandaged foot and new walking cane.

"Mrs Hudson, we have both been to hell and back today" Sherlock said with a heavy voice "But still made it back for dinner!" He smiled brightly, looking from John to Mrs Hudson.

Mrs Hudson smiled in response before; "I'll get the soup on. Sherlock, get in that shower; god knows where you've been. John, you rest your leg, dear."

Both men smiled and headed up the stairs, Sherlock helping John climb each step.

John groaned as he landed in his own armchair. Sherlock landed in the one opposite him; "Did Jim say anything to you today? At all? A plan, what had inspired this? Anything?" Sherlock questioned.

John was silent as he tried to think; "Well, Ms Adler was on the phone to him a lot. He was the one who picked me up this morning in a taxi – I was only going to buy milk at the shop. He made me deliver an envelope to here, then took me to Battersea, put that damn vest on me. Made me watch as he introduced himself to that first person; Jason Moriarty, the criminal that he had brought out on bail this morning. He shot him, point blank, with a shotgun of all things. Poor guy didn't stand a chance."

John sighed as he remembered it.

"Then there was Jeremy Moriarty, one of the crew on a Thames boat cruiser. He didn't even speak to him, just identified him and shot him from the shore; the man fell into the water, I'm amazed you found him."

"Lestrade found him" Sherlock said quietly.

"Jim then just said that there 'wasn't much time' and he asked me questions that I refused to answer. The rest, you know" John finished, fidgeting with his left thumb.

Sherlock stood and walked to the window thoughtfully. His mind racing as he tried to think of reasons, motives, further moves. He barely heard the next sentence that came from the man behind him.

"Thank you so much Sherlock, you're always there when I need you" Sherlock turned to John.

"You are now grounded you know." Sherlock said calmly, with no humour in his voice. John looked up questioningly. "From now on, you are not to leave my side, not even to go for milk" Sherlock said seriously.

"Sherlock, I can't not go out on my own. Isn't that showing them that they have won?" John said incredulously.

"I don't care" Sherlock retorted. "I don't care what they think, I only care…about you" Sherlock became very animated in logging into John's laptop.

John smiled at the detective, at _his_ detective.

Mrs Hudson bundled through the door with a tray of food. So much for just soup, there were sandwiches, full plates of sausage, egg, beans, bacon and black pudding and three cups of tea.

"Come on you two, get seated" she cooed. "Oh, not you, dear, you stay there" She said when she caught sight of John. She made sure he was comfortable, before giving him the tray with his food on it. She loved to fuss over the two as if they were her sons, and in a way, they were. Mrs Hudson confiscated the laptop from under Sherlock's fingers, receiving the glare of death as she set down the plate of food in front of him.

The pair ate their food silently as Mrs Hudson watched over them, sipping her own tea. She took away the empty plates and called her goodnights as she left the room and pattered down the stairs.

Sherlock turned to John with a thoughtful expression.

"Thinking about Moriarty?" John asked quietly.

"No, no, nothing like that" Sherlock said with a wave of his dismissive hand. "I was actually wondering if you fancied a bath" he continued quietly, looking at his feet. After a short silence from John, Sherlock looked up at him. Their eyes met and they smiled widely at each other.


	5. Chapter 5

Heya, this ones a bit more fluff! - Enjoy.

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Sherlock examined the sleeping John beside him. How could he sleep for _so_ long? He had been sleeping for hours! Sherlock looked about the dark room, he couldn't sleep, he wasn't exactly restless, but his mind was ticking over; flashing through scenes of the previous day.

The room was still dark; the alarm clock on the bed side table blinking red numbers at him 01:34.

Sherlock turned to John again; he was suddenly overwhelmed by an unknown feeling. It started, hot, in his stomach, and then he felt it spread through his torso to his limbs, extremely hot where his flesh touched John's. Sherlock lay frozen trying to identify the cause of his bodies' dysfunction. When no obvious answer came to mind, he thought about something he had not had to think about before; his feelings.

He loved John, he once thought that love was beneath him, but, turns out he is Human after all. He would do anything for the man that lay next to him, from the unreasonable to the downright unbelievable. He's been going out to buy beans for heaven's sake.

Then there was the new physical tasks expected of him. New experiences that meant his body was no longer solely for transport. John had been very caring with him, they had not, as yet, gone as far as they _could_ go, but John had said that they had plenty of time and that he did not want to rush things. Sherlock felt himself blush slightly in the dark room at the thought of it, flashes of possible images filling his mind with blindingly sharp detail. He decided to change the topic track inside his head.

When Sherlock was with John, he felt, complete – he winced at this revelation, the cliché thumping painfully through his brain; thank goodness he didn't say_ that_ out loud.

It was true, however, he felt like he had everything that he could ever need when he had John. Without warning, he felt a cold feeling seep up his back, the horrific thought of loosing John. It had only been a minute that he had thought John dead the day before, but a minute of complete and utter hopelessness – something that was unfamiliar and unwanted to Sherlock. His body had reacted by instantly wanting to vomit, his brain blank with fear. Moriarty was clever, as that was exactly what he was aiming for – to disarm him; but it also meant he knew what John meant to Sherlock, and that frightened him. He was sure that this relationship was good for him and John; however, it made him feel a new vulnerability that his enemies could decide to pick on. How many other people could see the invisible bond between the two?

Sherlock made a mental note to search their flat later for surveillance hardware. For now though, he was content to watch John rest. He smiled as his thoughts took a different tack again; holding John in the bath the previous night, helping him out of the water and towel drying him before carrying him, easily, to their room. He had retreated back to the bathroom to tend to himself and pull out the rubber bung in the plug hole, watching the water drain slowly as he brushed his teeth. By the time he had come back to bed, John was already asleep.

Sherlock closed his eyes and allowed a smile, he wrapped his arm tightly around John and pulled him to his chest, he drifted off into an easy sleep, focusing on the heavy regular breaths across his skin coming from the older man.

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He was running he had to find John; he had to find out why the towels were breeding and taking over the world. He found John on the stage in an abandoned theatre, held down by the peach coloured beach towels. John called out to him that there were towels behind him, he whipped round but was pulled to the ground by six or seven rough cream coloured bathmats. He shouted out to John but then, he woke with a jolt. Sherlock closed his mouth and swallowed a couple of times to retrieve some moistness to his throat, he looked bemusedly around the room to the alarm clock; 03:30. He sighed.

_This_ is why the detective didn't do sleeping. The nightmares, the body stiffness, the time spent _uselessly _in resting. Sherlock huffed. He turned his attention to the man lying on his chest, he had shifted slightly since he had last been awake and Sherlock marvelled at how an individual could sleep in such a position. John was sleeping on his front, his body diagonal to Sherlock's, his head was upturned and facing Sherlock's face, his arms were sprawled everywhere and he was snoring lightly with his mouth wide open. Sherlock had to stifle a laugh at the sight. John's face bounced slightly on Sherlock's chest as he tried not to giggle, but he couldn't help himself, he found it funnier and funnier as the moments went on. Then John's breathing hitched for a second before he rolled over and off of Sherlock, facing the other way and resting on a pillow. Sherlock abruptly stopped laughing and suddenly frowned at the loss of contact. Apparently so did John as he turned to face Sherlock again, nuzzling his face into Sherlock's arm.

Sherlock was bored. Bored, bored, bored. He tried to go back to sleep but couldn't. He didn't want to get up because he loved the feel of John's skin against his. He did however, wish John would wake up. Sherlock coughed a few times, a really good fake cough, but John didn't stir. Sherlock tried to murmur sentences, as if he was having a nightmare; he opened his eyes and studied John, still no reaction. There was no use; the man must have been shattered as he was not going to wake up anytime soon. Sherlock stared at the ceiling, vague memories of what was taped to the inside of the lampshade appearing in his brain, he smiled at it, he didn't need it now because of what was in bed with him. The doctor had replaced the drug. He smiled once more at the irony.

Sherlock thought some more about their relationship, and then decided to think about other things; his next experiment for example. Just as his brain was pickling the thumb nails, John suddenly sat up beside him. Sherlock jumped at the unexpected movement and he stared at the figure for a minute trying to deduce what was wrong. John was breathing heavily, woken from a dream, he was slightly sweating at the base of his neck, bad dream, and he was, crying? Sherlock sat up too looking cautiously at John, the man was indeed crying.

"John? What's wrong?" Sherlock asked in his usual gentle baritone.

John appeared shocked by Sherlock's presence and he looked at him with wet red eyes. John didn't say anything but he swiftly clambered out of bed and limped into the bathroom. Sherlock heard the bathroom light click on and the tap running in the sink. He sat still awaiting an explanation or a call for help from his flatmate.

A few minutes later the water stopped and the bathroom light clicked off, Sherlock sat with his back to propped pillows, his fingers steepled on top of the duvet. John's head popped round the door;

"Do you want a cuppa, Sherlock?" he asked, normal as could be.

Sherlock frowned and instantly got to his feet, pushing the duvet away.

"John, are you alright?" Sherlock said reaching his friend and putting his hands on John's shoulders.

"Yes, yes, just, ah, bad dream, that's all." John smiled up at Sherlock.

"I'll get you that cup of tea, John, you get back into bed." Sherlock said, he looked about the bedroom for some sort of cover for himself, he faltered as he looked at his peach coloured towel, but decided against it, he'd just go bare.

He made sure John was tucked up in bed with the bedside lamp on before heading to the kitchen to make tea. Sherlock stood a little away from the bench when pouring the kettle, just to ensure he didn't cause any burns to delicate places, he added a splash of milk to John's and two sugar cubes to his own before heading back to his bedroom carrying the two cups.

John smiled at him as he re-entered the room, placing John's white familiar mug down on the bedside table before walking round the bed to place his own on his bedside table. He sat back in the bed without a further word and pulled the duvet up to his chest again.

"It was about the bridge" John said quietly. Sherlock looked from his own teacup to John's face in response, noting the clearly visible signs of distress at the memories of his nightmare. "It was you wearing the vest" John said into his teacup.

Sherlock looked forlornly at his friend.

"And, I couldn't stop him, I wasn't there in time." John said, his voice tired and wavering.

Sherlock returned his cup to the table before lifting his right arm over John's head, wrapping it around his back and shifting John to sit against his shoulder.

"It sounds much better than my dream" Sherlock said lightly into his companions' hair, making John glance up at him with concern. "At least you didn't dream about deadly assassin towels that could breed" Sherlock continued, turning to retrieve his cup once more.

John snorted into his tea and looked back at Sherlock, Sherlock smiled back with a twinkle in his eye, John started to laugh, a hearty laugh that made Sherlock join in, giggling into his own teacup.

They finished their cups and John snuggled down under the sheets once more, Sherlock followed suit, John reached out to find Sherlock's hand, entwining them together under the duvet.

"Thanks for the tea" John whispered.

"Thanks for waking up" Sherlock replied promptly.

"Bored were you?" John asked, looking up at Sherlock.

"Awfully" Sherlock said, squeezing John's hand.

"Well" John said as he propped himself up on his elbow to look down at Sherlock before looking further down to their hands. "You know that _thing_ we haven't done yet?" he asked with a completely blank expression.

Sherlock looked up at John with a raised eyebrow and heartbeat.

"We'll have to be careful of my ankle though" John said seriously.

"Well then, I know who will be on the bottom." Sherlock said huskily, leaning towards John with obvious intent. John smiled and received Sherlock's attentions with welcoming lips.

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	6. Chapter 6

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Sherlock woke slowly, keeping his eyes closed as he allowed his body to stir and check all systems were active. He felt John at his side; a smile graced Sherlock's lips, just where he had left him.

John's heart skipped a beat as he saw a smile spread over the sleeping detectives' face.

"Are you having a nice dream?" John whispered at Sherlock's sleeping form.

Sherlock decided to play along for the fun of it; "John" he murmured into the air.

"Yes?" John leaned in and whispered directly to Sherlock's ear.

"What have you done with my thumb nails?" Sherlock muttered, cracking his left eye open a fraction to see John next to him, bathed in daylight from the window.

John pinched Sherlock's arm, now knowing the man was awake.

"Ow" Sherlock retorted, opening his eyes and grabbing his arm with his other hand.

John smiled cheekily.

"So, what's the verdict then?" John questioned, his voice now back to normal as he looked to the end of the bed.

"You're wondering how I feel after last nights events" Sherlock quickly deduced. John half smiled and nodded his head once to affirm the statements truth, still avoiding Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock made a move to sit up. "I may need more data." He said causally as though talking about a case study.

John glanced at Sherlock quickly and averted his eyes once more, trying hard to suppress a wide smile.

"How is your ankle?" Sherlock asked, suddenly frowning in the direction of John's duvet clad feet.

"Ah, fine" John dismissed; "might need the cane today though" he said as an afterthought.

"Why? Where are we going?" Sherlock queried, looking to his friend.

John let the smile break across his face; he looked at Sherlock with such affection at his question.

"Nowhere" John replied after a pause.

"Good. This data, how would you suggest I retrieve it?" Sherlock asked; his voice casual and light. John's smile was now of the goofy variety as he moved towards the curly haired man.

"C'mere ya big oaf." John said fondly, pulling at the man who went willingly wherever John put him.

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Sherlock's phone rang and he raised an exhausted hand to fetch it from the nightstand.

"Hello?" he croaked.

"Sherlock, thank god." Lestrade's voice was relieved.

"Lestrade, you really shouldn't take the lords name in vain so much" Sherlock said with a slight chuckle as he squeezed John's hand.

"Sherlock, we've found a body, well, its, it looks like you." Lestrade stammered.

Sherlock dropped his light demeanour and sat bolt upright, suddenly fascinated.

"Where?" Sherlock asked hastily.

There was a pause on the other end of the line before; "Well, it's at the War Museum."

"We'll be there within the hour, Lestrade" Sherlock said and hung up the call. He shook John's hand gently.

"We have a case" Sherlock said to John with enthusiasm. "We'd better get washed".

John lazily smiled in agreement from his sprawled out position on the mattress. "Help?" was all he said.

Sherlock stood and bent down to pick up his partner, he walked them through to the bathroom and gently set John down in the shower. He turned on the water and followed John into the tub. They compared bruises from the previous day under the waters stream like little boys in a schoolyard.

Once washed, Sherlock dressed sharply, helping John apply a bandage and his socks before the two retrieved their outdoor clothing and a swig of tea supplied by Mrs Hudson. Then they were in a taxi and travelling through the streets of London to the Imperial War Museum, holding hands surreptitiously.

Sherlock didn't have the heart to tell John that he already knew who the killer was. This was a case solely designed for Sherlock by Moriarty. He survived that fall just as Sherlock had suspected. However, the longer he could hold that information from John, the better for the shorter man's sanity he felt sure. Lestrade met them at the main entrance. The museum obviously closed to the public.

John glared at the dead man in front of them. He felt an extra wobble in his cane as he approached the scene. Sherlock laid a reassuring hand on John's back, between his shoulder blades, noting the military man's momentary hesitation.

"Freak" Sally called across the hall. Sherlock glanced at her with no retort. She smiled swiftly and almost unwontedly as she approached "you're alive" She stated in a huffy tone, not unlike a rebelling hormonal teenager.

John's half smile resembled a wince at Sally Donavon's comment. Sherlock glanced at John in silent surprise. John just raised his eyebrows, but Sherlock understood what he was saying without words; a bit not good to say anything if it wasn't going to be _nice_.

Sherlock turned his attentions to his doppelganger lying sprawled on the wooden floor beneath a Spitfire held close to the ceiling by steel wire.

The man was 6ft 2", Sherlock's height. He wore a Westwood suit, Moriarty's touch no doubt. The coat, shoes, gloves and shirt were identical to Sherlock's current wardrobe, although he deduced that they were in fact in brand new condition.

The face was vacant and resembled Sherlock's own almost identically, although, the victim's nose was a little longer and his eyes were a little bluer. Crouching down, Sherlock ran a gloved hand through the mans hair from route to tip, freezing his hold around the strands, he turned his head round to Lestrade with a smirk;

"You thought this was _me_?" he asked, and without looking back at the body he tugged the hair viciously, separating the wig from the dead mans scalp, the onlookers watching the event inhaled a breath simultaneously.

Sherlock turned back to the body and identified what the wig had revealed. It was a torn prosthetic mask lining the corpses' face.

"It was a good effort though" Sherlock continued, examining the mask with his slide out magnifying glass. He then peeled back the mask to see a badly wounded face. The man was killed first, probably by the injury to the back of his head, and then dressed later. Open and closed case.

John still stood, leaning on his cane, a good yard away from the Sherlocks. He felt exhausted, it had been quite a couple of days, and now this was the start of something that looked quite large. A looming case for Sherlock to loose himself inside.

John looked around at the entire scene, there was a forensic team standing in a crowd, arms folded looking on as Sherlock studied the dead man, Sally stood a little way off, whispering something to Lestrade who nodded in agreement and then there was the odd policemen standing at the entrances.

John spotted a little table to his right, a grey plastic tray that held many familiar items sat on the surface of the table next to numerous bits and pieces of camera equipment. John approached the table silently and peered inside the tray; a mobile phone identical to the one Sherlock owned, a pocketbook of London maps that had been well thumbed through, a pair of white plastic gloves and a small rectangular piece of black plastic; the very same type of magnifying glass Sherlock used at this minute. John picked up the magnifying glass, about to slide it open when a familiar hand snatched it away. John looked up quickly at Sherlock, who stood beside him.

"Yes, _very_ good attempt" he said quietly, examining the second magnifying glass. When no one was looking, he pocketed it with a wink at his companion "Always good to have a spare" he murmured.

"So what's the info? Give me all" Lestrade asked causally, walking up beside them, looking at his own feet.

"The man was not me" Sherlock said with an obvious tone.

Lestrade sighed "Yes, we know that now, but why would someone do this?"

Sherlock turned in a half circle on the spot to face John "John, could I ask you for a medical opinion?" he asked gently.

John nodded curtly before wobbling his way over to the dead man, a little less daunted as the man now looked nothing like Sherlock.

Sherlock kept his eyes on John's retreating back as he spoke to Lestrade;

"This is intended as a message, a message to me." Sherlock whispered in a low voice. "I will need photographs of the body and this mobile phone". Sherlock picked up the phone from the tray and flipped it neatly in his right hand, looking it over closely.

Lestrade looked up at Sherlock's face in sudden realisation; "Moriarty, you think _he_ did this?" he said quietly, taking Sherlock's lead with keeping it low profile.

Sherlock looked down for a second before looking up at Lestrade, indicating with a slight nod that the man's deduction was correct.

"Keep an eye out for a second" Sherlock said quietly just as John re-approached them.

"Yep, definitely murder. Serious lacerations to the face but the fatal wound was to the back of his head – hidden by the wig." He said flatly.

"Thank you, John" Sherlock said gratefully, he smiled briefly at Lestrade in a silent goodbye, Lestrade nodded in thanks.

Just as the pair walked out of the echoic War decorated hall, Sherlock shouted back at Sally without turning his head; "Oh and Sally, you should really wear your own underwear to work you know." John looked sharply up at Sherlock before whipping round in time to see a blush blossom on Sally's face.

"You were looking?" John asked quietly.

Sherlock smirked. "You are jealous?" he said not looking at John as he banged the door closed behind them.

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Back at 221B Baker Street, Sherlock lined the billboard with the new photographs while John made the tea. A loud exasperated sigh reached Sherlock's ears but was not entirely acknowledged until he spotted John putting his coat back on.

"Where do you think you are going?" Sherlock said sternly, momentarily stopping his photo mapping on the wall to stare unblinkingly at the man.

"To get milk" John replied picking up his cane once his coat was zipped up.

"Have you forgotten our conversation last night? It's not safe out there" Sherlock said dumbly.

"Sherlock, I have to be independent. I thought that was what you loved about me" John said with a slight smile.

"I do, but I love the idea of you staying with me more." Sherlock replied wittily, his expression unchanged.

"I'm just going to get milk, how long can I be?" John asked the question rhetorically. But Sherlock had to have the last word as per usual.

"Possibly 10 minutes if there is a queue, 11 if there's a wheelchair, 15 if you go to the little store on the high street -" Sherlock was interrupted by a peck to his lips and a view of John retreating down the stair case. "Be Careful, John" Sherlock called and he turned all his attentions back to the information in front of him.

Sherlock was so engrossed in his work that he jumped when his phone started to ring; he took the two long strides to his desk to retrieve the loud object and swiftly answered it.

"Sherlock, we've got another, this one is John's double." Lestrade said calmly in his local London intonation.

Sherlock whipped around to look at the empty kitchen. John was still out. He curtly thanked Lestrade and hung up. Calling John's mobile to demand his assistance immediately, he was however, completely thrown off balance when Lestrade eventually answered John's phone.

Sherlock's voice was dangerous and deep; "Lestrade, what time is it?"

"Sherlock?" Lestrade asked in confusion.

"What is the_ time_ Lestrade?" Sherlock demanded.

"It's five to five" Lestrade answered simply.

Sherlock hung up the phone. John had been out to buy milk an hour and a half ago. Sherlock immediately shut down his feelings. Recognising the weapon Moriarty was using. He swiftly approached the door, throwing his coat on and forgetting about his scarf entirely. He stopped a foot shy of the doorway and turned on his heel suddenly. He faltered before swiftly approaching his laptop on the desk. He efficiently typed in the address to his own website; Science of Deduction and he tapped out a simple message on the homepage;

"Battersea. You know where. 17:30. – SH"

He threw the laptop lid shut as he swooped down the staircase and out into the street. In the taxi, he isolated his brain, building a secure brick wall in front of the bedroom door inside his mind palace. He focused on his old thoughts; clues, motives and future moves.

Battersea's disused power station loomed into view as Sherlock stopped fidgeting with the new magnifying glass he had acquired that afternoon. He placed it carefully back into his pocket before paying the driver and hopping out into the cold, dark air.

The taxi bumbled away as Sherlock walked quickly with intent. He found himself rounding the corner of the entrance to the building, reaching the location of the first murder the previous day.

Sure enough, there stood an immaculate Westwood clad Jim, his hands in his pockets and his sneer evident.

"I knew you'd come" He called, his voice raising the hair on the back of Sherlock's neck.

"How could I ignore an invite quite like that" Sherlock said calmly.

"_You_ were the one to invite _me_, here Sherlock." Jim retorted.

"One dead Sherlock and one dead John, there would have to be a dead Jim in the pack, I just wanted to see if the real one was still alive first" Sherlock said, his eyes roaming over the inside of the hollow building.

"Oh, anyone can survive a fall, its all in the landing" Jim said with a smirk. "Did I get anyone?" he continued.

Sherlock frowned "I don't understand" he said truthfully.

"Did I fool anyone with my dead look-a-likes?" Moriarty's eagle like eyes saw the well hidden relief in Sherlock's shoulders at the mention of more than one look-a-like. "Good God, you didn't actually think that John's death was _real_ did you?" Jim looked delighted "I didn't think his was as good as yours, but I definitely won this round."

"I did not observe the later murder victim, and no, I know John is in the vicinity. I assume they were just two unwilling volunteers you had killed" Sherlock reeled off quickly, chopping and changing his subject with ease.

"How did you know?" Jim said, apparently surprised.

"Protection" Sherlock answered quickly, he spread his arms and turned a full circle on the spot. "There is no one else here, no sniper rifles, no body guards" Sherlock paused side-on to look at Jim "What happened to them, Jim? Did you kill them? Did you _get_ them killed?" Sherlock asked as causally as if they were talking about the benefits of sugar in tea.

"I do not need them for such a minor task" Moriarty spat.

"Ah, fighting your own battles now? How grown up of you" Sherlock said, narrowing his eyes in sarcasm. "So what happens now? Do you threaten me by killing John? Or do you give me the choice, my life or John's?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, you tell me Sherlock, one of us has to die, because this just can't go on any longer than it already has. It's becoming a scene from a bad superhero film." Jim said in his deep oily drone.

"Tell me about it" Sherlock said with an air of _'dull_'.

"It has been fun though, Sherlock" Jim said, looking at his feet as he walked a few paces to his left. Sherlock took the opportunity to scan the area a little closer. He spotted a heap of clothing that appeared to move in the far dark corner of the large space.

"Watching me dance?" Sherlock asked, returning his gaze to Jim as he looked up.

"No, playing with you and your…domesticated house pet." Jim said thoughtfully. "Although, he is not your house pet anymore, is he, Sherlock?" with this sentence, Moriarty took a step closer to Sherlock, his face showing a certain eagerness for knowledge.

Sherlock stared Jim straight in the eyes, a piercing, unflinching glare across the 6 foot distance. "Yes, how did you know?" he asked as he walked in a half circle around Jim, slowly turning them round in the dark echoic hanger-like building.

Jim scoffed. "How could I not?" He asked. "Holding hands in taxis and using only one bedroom." Sherlock broke the gaze to look at Jim's feet before staring straight back at the hateful mans face. "And then, there was that text you sent to Ms Adler" Jim continued. He raised his voice to almost a sing-song tone to quote "If you have caused any harm to my Watson, I will have no trouble giving you up to you up to the Americans. S.H. '_my _Watson'." Jim said with vindictiveness. "You disgust me, Sherlock, how could you stoop that far in the chain for a partner?"

Sherlock turned his body to Jim, keeping the 6 foot distance. His brain reeling from the last comment Jim had made. Something was not right about it and it took all of 8 seconds for the answer to hit him full speed in the face.

"Ah" Sherlock said in realisation.

"What?" Jim said abruptly.

"You, ahh, you, you,_ you_!" Sherlock said with a laugh of glee.

Jim looked put out. "What's the joke?" he asked.

"This is why all of this, this is why you play with me and never kill me." Sherlock stated, his smile disappearing off his face, replaced instantly with the cold demeanour that was Sherlock's main persona. "This is why you torture John." He added quietly.

Jim looked nervously at the taller man, his face not quite toward him.

"You are in love with me." Sherlock said calmly.

Jim smiled widely, a closed mouth smile. He buried his hands deeper in his pockets.

"What if I do? Would you be tempted?" He asked in his slick tone of voice.

Sherlock took the few steps that were between them so that he was directly in front of the man; Sherlock looked down at him and noticed the enlarged pupils, the heavy shallow breaths and the lick of the lips, he smiled.

"That depends" Sherlock said in his must husked tone.

"On what?" Jim smirked up at him.

Sherlock mirrored his smirk; he swiftly plunged his left hand into his coat pocket and retrieved the new microscope he had acquired, he played with it in his hands before he held it up, level with Jim's face, Jim didn't waver his stare from Sherlock's face.

"I need to see if you really are my equal" Sherlock whispered, he leaned in close to Jim. "Tell me what you can deduce about that glove on the floor there." He held out the closed microscope. Jim laughed.

"Easy" Jim sang in a higher octave than his own voice.

He snatched the microscope and walked over to fetch the abandoned glove on the floor.

Sherlock ran, he ran on the fronts of his feet to the bundle of clothes on the floor in the corner. Sherlock dived on top of the apparent pile of rags as silently as was possible. He then pulled his coat over his head and the rags;

"Vatican Cameos!" Sherlock whispered and he felt John instantly curl into a ball underneath him and the rags.

Moriarty, oblivious to what was going on behind him was bent double looking closely at the black worn out glove on the dusty and leaf infested floor. He brought the microscope to his left eye and pulled the black plastic apart to reveal the magnifying glass itself.

The room exploded.

The sound and resulting fire reverberated around the entire hall, burning the discarded leaves and dust and even the birds' nests in the roof beams.

John was frozen to the spot; he saw everything, and heard most of the conversation that had occurred between Sherlock and Moriarty. He was bundled up into the foetal position underneath a pile of dirty and badly odorous rags, he had felt Sherlock's weight on top of him and he had heard the very large explosion. He felt the impact of the explosion push them both across the floor. Then the silence that followed was deafening.

John waited a minute or two and then decided to attempt the climb out of his current situation. Sherlock lay on his back a little way away from John, his face blackened and more cuts visible on his body through his torn clothes. John struggled with the last of the rags and ran through the smoke to Sherlock's unmoving figure, skidding on his knees slightly as he reached the man.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, are you ok? Sher-!" John shouted, although he stopped when he noticed Sherlock's ears were bleeding - he wouldn't be able to hear him. John started to gently shake the man.

"John, would you kindly _stop_ shaking me" Sherlock moaned.

A tear escaped John's eye and ran down his cheek as he smiled in relief. Sherlock opened his eyes at the sensation of John's tear hitting his own cheek. He sat up, albeit with some difficulty, and pulled John into him, letting the man cuddle him back silently.

"What happened to Moriarty?" John asked quietly.

"What?" Sherlock shouted.

John stifled a giggle and sat up slightly, he pointed to the place where he had seen Moriarty before the explosion and then shrugged his shoulders.

Sherlock understood and looked over John and through the smoke; he saw a small fire on the other side of the derelict building. He reached for his phone; and pulled John back to his chest as he used both hands to text Lestrade;

"_All over. Battersea Power Station. Send police, ambulance and fire brigade. I may have made a mess. – SH"_

John laughed as he watched Sherlock type it out. They lay huddled in the corner until the sound of sirens could be heard. John made an attempt to scurry away from Sherlock, but Sherlock brought him back with one hand firmly grasped on John's coat.

Lestrade ran into the building, he promptly started coughing in the smoke before signalling the fire brigade in to put out the last of the fire. He then began searching for the two men that he knew would be close. Sherlock waved his arm in the air grabbing Lestrade's attention. Lestrade ran over and stood beside them, looking down at Sherlock.

"Is it worth asking what happened?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock pointed to his ears and then shrugged.

"He is deaf from the explosion. Greg, is Moriarty over there?" John asked pointing over at the fire brigade.

Lestrade nodded; "What's left of him, yeah" Lestrade stood once more; "Come on, let's get you two to the ambulance…again" he laughed despite the whole situation.

John got to his feet and searched the rags for his cane, eventually he found it before helping Lestrade to get Sherlock to his feet, and they carried him on their shoulders across the expanse of concrete floor to the exit. They stopped briefly to admire the small parts of Jim scattered all over the floor, before exiting into the dark, cold night.

00000000

Back in 221B Baker Street that evening, Sherlock sat on the couch; he looked tired, relieved and forlorn. John sat opposite Sherlock, in much the same condition.

John was holding a permanent pen, with a pad of paper in his lap; he finally decided what he wanted to write and set about it with purpose.

Sherlock looked on fondly; he waited patiently for his question, dealing rather well with the constant high pitched ringing in his ears. John held up his notepad and Sherlock read it quickly.

_What caused the explosion?_

Sherlock got to his feet and reached for his coat, he pulled out his own magnifying glass and threw it to John. John caught it and looked at it cautiously.

"Remember the one at the crime scene yesterday?" Sherlock half shouted. John nodded. "It was the last message to Moriarty from his men before they left him, they recognised the signs of Jim's insanity – that he was in love and was not doing big criminal deals as of late, he only had one obsession, and that was me, so they abandoned their work for him. Their last job was making the corpse look like me; they had planted the 'props' on the body in the hope that Jim would be inspecting their work before raising the alarm. The magnifying glass was packed with explosives, the movement of the object would spark and…" Sherlock spread his hands in silent description of the final event.

John sighed and relaxed into his armchair, a simple "Wow" crossing his lips.

John smiled at Sherlock. He focussed back on his notepad – taking a fresh page. He held it up for Sherlock to read once he had written three words. Sherlock replied with a grin and a nod.

John stood up and threw the notepad at the armchair; he walked over to Sherlock, helping him to his feet. The pair leant on each other and both hobbled out of the door and down the hallway.

Mrs Hudson came up the stairs just as the bathroom door lock clicked closed. She set the tray of tea and biscuits down in the living room and spotted the notebook on the empty armchair; she picked it up and smiled down at the three words written upon it.

'_Fancy a bath?'_

She laughed slightly before replacing the notepad on the chair and moving toward the door. She switched off the main light and closed the living room door with a click.

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Thank you so much for reading guys, I really hope you enjoyed my preferred ending to Jim Moriarty!


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